


Push and Pull

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: M/M, i'm not that proud of this, pure fluff, really fucking cheesy actually, some light swearing in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of their relationship over the course of 7 months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

> huntershipping post-game, written & edited in one sitting

      “I mean… are you sure?” You raise an eyebrow as you stare down at both of your clasped hands, Gold’s grip reasonably tighter than yours. Not a second to waste later, his warm laughter bubbles from his lips. You feel it knocking at your heart, making it churn in an uncomfortable fashion.

 

      “Yeah, Silver. Of course. First time I saw you, I knew,” he states with confidence, and you can hear the inevitable grin in his words as he eases his fingers free to wrap his arms around your shoulders. Unsure of what to do with your own hands, you let them hang in the air on either side of him, grabbing onto nothing in particular for a moment until, in a gradual motion, you slide them around his waist.

 

      A couple of seconds pass by, though they seem to drag on for hours (god, you hate that line - it sounds so cliche, but it’s exactly how it feels), before you finally speak. You feel the movement of your jaw brush up against the side of his neck; your chin is tucked into the dip of his shoulder. “Love at first sight doesn't exist.”

 

      In response, he gives you a soft squeeze, burying his nose in your hair. “You're right. But there is such a thing as seeing someone for the first time and knowing that they're going to be really fucking important to you.” That almost makes you want to gag from how sugar-sweet it is, though you choose to stay quiet and lose yourself in the warm arms of your... rival? Friend? Some third thing? Whatever the hell he is, it doesn't matter; his hold is so comforting that you almost want to fall asleep right in the middle of the forest.

 

* * *

 

 

      “There, there… it’s okay…”

 

      You stare at your boyfriend, incredulous. His voice is so tentative that it almost makes your heart ache; however, you’re too busy being entrenched in the fact that he’s talking to-

 

      “... an egg?”

 

      Hey, you’ve been in a relationship for around two months now, and friends for about two years. These kinds of things about him shouldn't come as unexpected to you. And they don't - it’s more awe or enamour than it ever is unexpected.

 

      With a sudden quirk of the head, he looks up at you in surprise, as if he’d forgotten that you were there. Though a small detail, again, it makes your heart twinge in two different ways. “Huh? Yeah, I almost stepped on it, it was underneath a tiny shrub behind the tall grass. Looks like its mommy abandoned it. There isn’t even a nest or anything nearby, and it looks like a runt...”

 

      “Please never say ‘mommy’ again,” you mutter, before stepping up to him to get a better look at the obviously dwarven speckled egg. That was definitely why it had been left behind. “It looks like it’s about to blow any second now.”

 

      At that, he frowns as he glances over at you, before returning his attention to the twitching egg in his arms. “The way you’re talking about it makes it sound like a bomb, Silver,” he says, before holding the egg towards you. You don't protest, though. You take it carefully as Gold sheds his jacket and wraps it around the bottom of the egg, before taking it back and cradling it as if it were a baby.

 

      “Gold, you don't even know what kind of Pokémon that is,” you point out, though there’s no malice in your voice (only standby curiosity), “and you're handling it like it’s one of your own.”

 

      The side of the egg begins to break off, slow; if you peer into the cracks, you can see a small limb of a still unidentifiable Pokémon working to push itself out. “Well… I mean, its mom left it, so someone has to,” he reasons in a hushed voice, meticulously peeling off a larger part of the shell that the Pokémon inside never would have been able to push off by itself.

 

      You nod, deciding to refrain from commenting further on the matter as you both observe an anemic Dratini slither from the same opening that Gold had assisted it with. Without giving it a second thought, Gold takes the sleeve of his jacket and, as magnanimous as can be, wipes the thin film of liquid coating the creature. It’s mildly revolting, in your opinion - but yet, you can’t help but feel yourself fall a little bit more for him as he begins humming soothingly to the abandoned neonate.

 

* * *

 

 

       The sun is still halfway through its dip under the horizon, allowing slits of orange to slide in through the cracks of the rented room’s blinds. Somewhere in the same town, there was a happy little girl with her first Pokémon - a tiny, one-month-old Dratini named ‘Miracle’. The reason that you two had stopped here was because you were planning on traveling across the region. You’d both wanted to catch a less common Pokémon in the colder areas, and neither had wanted to travel alone. Now, though, standing in front of the door, nervous fists clenched in overwhelming emotions, you’re not really sure if you’re going to be able to complete the trip.

 

       “Fuck, i-it’s so fucking hard to tell if you even like me, sometimes,” he says, between ragged breaths. He sniffles and rubs at the back of his eyes with the end of his sleeve. “Being rivals is one thing, being friends is another. But you talk to me like I’m your _enemy_ , like you hate me. I... do you- do you even _want_ to be in this relationship?”

 

       It’s as if every organ in your body ceased to function; there’s a cold cavity where your heart should be, pumping ice through your veins. You’re at a loss of what to say, and you can barely breathe, let alone move. Why would you even deserve to, after making the most important person in the entire goddamn universe to you cry? Eyes wide, you part your lips to choke out the next waterfall of words. “I- that’s- I’m- _no_ , fuck, shit, I- I don’t hate you, I don’t hate you, I’m _far_ from hating you, it’s just-” Wow, _fantastic_ eloquence you’ve got there. “- I like you, a lot, and you’re the first person who’s ever made me want to die and cry out of happiness at the same time, and it’s just- I don’t- it’s really hard to express that, I don’t- I don’t know how else to treat you, and that’s not a fucking excuse, I’m sorry, I- didn’t know that it was making you think that, I-”

 

       A hand on your shoulder stops you. “Silver, breathe,” he sniffs. You don’t even remember what prompted this argument, but all that matters is that _you fucking hurt Gold_. You hurt the most kind, patient (irritating at times, but that doesn’t give you the right to _hurt_ him like you have) being that you’ve ever come across, he put up with all of your bullshit until now and you made him fucking cry, what kind of- “It… it’s okay. I just wanted to know how you felt. That’s all. It’s okay.”

 

       Now _he’s_ the one consoling _you,_ even though _you_ were the one who hurt _him._ You shouldn’t even be crying, you selfish prick. You swallow hard, standing rigid, paying no mind to the warm tears silently streaming down the skin of your cold cheeks. You can’t move when he wraps you in an embrace that you’re far from deserving, whispering to you over and over that it’s okay, he isn’t mad, he understands now.

 

      You want to push him away, because he’s far too good to be with you - he needs someone better, someone who can show him as much affection as he puts forward. But the words are stuck in your throat, and all you can hiccup are three syllables.

 

       “I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

      The chatter of the people around you does nothing to distract your attention from the teen sitting in front of you. You’re on a lame cafe date, and of course, true to the cheesy movie trope, you both made sure to grab booth seats. Gold pushes the straw in his cup around with his bottom lip, attempting to get it in his mouth without using his hands. It makes him look ridiculous. And then you figure, hey, why not voice this thought out to him?

 

      “You look like a fucking idiot,” you remark, flat, lifting your own drink (black coffee) to your mouth for a short sip.

 

      He looks up from his milkshake to you for a second, mouth still trying to grab onto the plastic, before straightening himself up a bit and crossing his arms over the table.

 

       Things have changed since you had your first serious argument, two months ago  - after both of you had calmed down, you sat in silence on the bed until Gold had broken it. Of course he was the one to bring up the issue - he actually confronts his problems like a productive human being, unlike you, pretending that your problems will go away if you ignore them for long enough. The point is, you talked about your relationship for the first time - and how both of you felt, unfiltered. It brought you closer. You learned to joke with him. You understood him more - and that sometimes, he needs a bit of reassurance so that he’s sure that you don’t actually hate him. He learned that you don’t mean half of the things you say to him, and that you actually do like the affection - you’re just bad at reciprocating.

 

        “You know, I hear you say that, and even though you sound kind of dead, I can hear the little bit of amusement in there,” he grins a hopeful looking grin, tapping his fingers against the corner of the table, restless.

 

      You look at him blankly, fighting off the small grin climbing to your face with a success rate that could stun thousands.

 

      That seems to discourage him, but his smile only drops a little bit. Just for an extra comedic effect.

 

      “Wow, maybe not. Alright. Here I was, trying to make a little game out of this, trying to have fun, and you just shoot me down. I can’t believe you. You should be crowned the party pooper of the year - I think you’d actually look nice with a sash and crown,” he rambles, placing two fingers around the large pink straw finally to lift it up to his lips. “Like, the sash would read, ‘Most Successful And Efficient Pooper of Parties’ on it, or something. Impact bold. All that good stuff.” When his mouth is unoccupied, you lean over the table and tug him up by the front of his collar. No complaints are exchanged as your lips meet, bitter fusing with sweet, and he’s successfully shut up.

 

      No more than ten seconds pass by before he pulls back - gentle, as always, but deliberate. Of course, he begins talking again. “Dude, I don’t know how you like straight up black coffee. It’s so bitter, how do you not die the second it hits your tongue?”

 

      You roll your eyes, though you secretly take note of the hint of strawberry banana lingering on your lips. “I like it that way,” you shrug, resting your elbows on top of the table, palms flat against the plastic. It’s not long before you feel the pleasant touch of his hand over yours.

 

      “Hm... Y’know, it’s kind of ironic - I usually don’t like bitter things, but I love you,” he chuckles, amber eyes veiled with smitten adoration.

 

      Your breath catches in your throat.

 

       That was the first time that he’d ever said that he loved you.

 

       And he said it in the same breath of an insult.

 

       It was in such a casual manner, too.

 

       You want to grovel at the fact that the way he brought it up was just so cliche; cheesy; said in the manner of a joke; couldn’t he have picked a better time? Maybe when you hadn’t just made fun of him only a minute prior; or in private, where you could have had a more intimate moment; really, why couldn’t he have said it anywhere except for the current time and place-

 

       But you can’t. You realise that, if he had done it in any other way, it would have felt wrong: jokes and laughter is what Gold is all about. You let go of the breath that you weren’t aware you were holding, and crack a small grin - and that’s when his face breaks out into an ear-to-ear smile. “I suppose it’s the same way for me, except with sweet things. You’re kind of cute, sometimes.”

 

       “Awww, Silv. You called me sweet. And cute. I didn’t know that you had positive things to say about anyone.”

 

       “Don’t push it.”

 

* * *

 

 

       When he pulls away from the kiss, smiling like an idiot and breathless, you can’t help but laugh at him, pushing him off of you.

 

       He falls off to the side with an audible thud, which makes you laugh even harder - his “ow” is easily mixed in with the vociferous screams from the old, well-made at the time horror movie playing on his TV.

 

       “C’mon, Silver, let me love you,” he chortles, propping himself up with one hand and rubbing his shoulder with the other. The dark mess that he calls his hair is tousled where your fingers were previously threaded through, pulling him closer.

 

       “No way, lover-boy, free trial ends in nine months, and it’s only been seven,” you quip, still curled up on your side from laughing. You feel his hand reach down to brush the stray hair out of your face, pushing it over your shoulder instead. It tickles against the bare skin of your arm (his house was heated, so you were only wearing a short sleeved shirt this time, instead of your signature coat), but you don’t comment, instead staring up into his eyes.

 

       You barely maintain eye contact for more than five seconds before he begins to break out into a fit of more laughter, overlapping the bloodcurdling sound of the revving chainsaw from the movie. The colours from the screen bounce off the highlights of his face, basking him in flashing brown and red light; you don’t think you’ve ever experienced a sight more beautiful than that in your short life. His laughter is cut short when you pull him down again for another innocent kiss, using him as a leverage to stay up. Neither of you can stop smiling through it - the taste of buttered popcorn remains on his lips.

 

       Finally, you break away after a quick five seconds, because it’s obvious that you’re not going to be able to accomplish anything when both of you can’t stop grinning like idiots at each other. You let yourself fall back onto the hardwood floor of his room.

 

       When was the last time you laughed this much?

 

       “Fuck,” you snort, taking a second to take another quick breath. “I love you.”

 

       If possible, his smile grows even wider when he hears the words. He swoops down to press a quick peck to your lips, palm pressing into the floor to the side of your head to keep him from falling forward onto you. The sound of flesh being torn apart in the film rings through the room, backed up by intense orchestral music, before he moves to press his forehead against yours.

  
       “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> in honour of the best bitch, mads


End file.
